


A Softer Eternity

by Obscurus343



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Feelings are talked about, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Promises, Sandalphon and Gabriel are both briefly mentioned but tbh fuck them, They're so in love it hurts, and promises are kept, random Hozier reference, random Queen reference, so this is a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, soft, the angel and the demon are in love and nothing can stop them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 05:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20558708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obscurus343/pseuds/Obscurus343
Summary: They're in love, can I get a wahoo?..





	A Softer Eternity

It’s a dark, stormy night the first time they say it. It’s not a cliché – not yet – and anyway, Crowley can barely spare a thought for that, spiraling as his brain screams at him to break the moment, shatter the unspeakable tension like so much glass. He cannot bring himself to move. 

Aziraphale looks scared, he thinks. The angel’s eyes are wide, and the window’s enough to see how pale he is, even in the darkness of the room they’re sharing. 

Lightning tears through the sky, and Aziraphale flinches. 

“S’okay, angel,” Crowley manages to mutter. “Just a storm.”

“I know.”

“We’re inside, anyhow.” 

“I – I suppose we are,” Aziraphale says quietly. 

His fingers are picking at the bedding – he’s sitting on the bed as if he’s not completely sure how to do it, and a silence hangs between them, terrible and deep and darker than the city outside. Crowley can feel it prickling at his skin and clenches his jaw. He really wants to hiss. 

There is another crack of lightning in the window, and he glares at it. 

Aziraphale shivers. 

“Are you cold?” 

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and he winces. Aziraphale blinks at him, surprised, and squeezes out a little smile. 

“No.” 

Crowley gives him a look. 

“Well, perhaps just a bit,” Aziraphale admits, biting his lip. “It’s – it’s quite alright.” 

“No, it’s not,” Crowley grumbles, and shoves his overcoat at Aziraphale’s lap. “Put it on.” 

“No, it’s alright – ”

“Put it on.” 

Aziraphale takes the coat. He doesn’t put it on, however, holding it in his lap, and his knuckles are white as he clutches the fabric. His shoulders are tense, and he keeps biting his lip. Crowley wants to destroy _everything_. 

The wind roars its approval. The flimsy windowpane is rattling with every gust, and the world looks like it’s ending, honest – ending with a rush of water and darkness, in a second blessed Flood. Maybe this time it’ll stick, Crowley thinks, and there’s something wretched about that, because the thought just hurts for no fucking reason. 

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale mumbles. 

He still looks shaken. Fragile. Crowley wants to scream. 

“Don’t,” he says instead, a little too sharply. Aziraphale glances up at him, eyes wide, and he regrets it immediately. With a physical effort, he softens his voice. “Just… Don’t. It wasn’t your fault. So, y’know – forget it.” 

“I _can’t_,” Aziraphale says, and it’s almost a wail. “I was too reckless – I just thought I could, because they were sick and dying, but I shouldn’t have, and I…” 

He breaks off, drawing in a shuddering breath. 

“He almost _saw_ us,” he whispers. 

“He didn’t, though.” 

“I know! But, Crowley – it was Sandalphon, I’d completely forgotten he was supposed to be – he was meeting a priest – he would’ve… He – he doesn’t like me at all, I’m afraid. He – ” 

“He wouldn’t have done shit,” Crowley growls, and means it, more so than anything he’s ever said. “Angel, I would never have let him hurt you – ” 

“I don’t care about myself!” Aziraphale snaps. For a moment, he looks horrified by his own outburst, but keeps going, nevertheless. “He would destroy you, too, Crowley. You… You don’t understand. He would obliterate you from existence – you would be _gone_. Or even if he didn’t, I would never see you again, and I… I don’t think I could go on like that.” 

Crowley stares at him. He’d opened his mouth already for the next retort – except he has no idea what to say anymore. 

Aziraphale looks at him too, and then turns away. He’s biting his lip down again, as if trying to keep himself from saying something else. He looks like his soul itself is being overwhelmed by utter misery, and it’s painful to even watch. 

“I won’t be gone, then,” Crowley blurts. 

Aziraphale stiffens, and Crowley hurries on. 

“I mean it, angel,” he says – as gently as he can, though he knows that isn’t much – “Honest. I won’t be gone, not ever – I wouldn’t leave you. I won’t.” 

It’s quiet, really, in their room. Well, the rain is crashing against the window, and the glass clatters under the onslaught – and he’s pretty sure he can hear the wind howling still. But inside, there’s not a single sound. Except for the staggered, tired breathing of two beings that don’t need to breathe. 

Aziraphale’s shoulders are tight as he glances back at Crowley. 

“Promise?..” he asks in a strained voice. 

“Promise,” Crowley says quietly, but he wants to scream it, howl it – screech it into the universe like the demon he is. He tries really hard not to hiss on the _s_. He wants Aziraphale to believe him so badly. 

Aziraphale’s lip quivers. A choked, stifled sound escapes him, and tears are rimming his eyes. He gasps, and it’s terrible to see how much he’s trying to bottle down, even now. 

He sniffles, and tries to hold his breath, gagging on another sob. 

He’s shaking, and every shiver is violent, half-suppressed and erratic. 

“Hey,” Crowley mutters. He can’t stop himself from reaching out, even though the angel’s been shaking him off lately – well, he knows why, now. “Angel, s’alright…” 

His hand strokes Aziraphale’s cheek, brushing the tears away – and here, the dam breaks. With a wet, choking wail, Aziraphale leans forward, into a demon’s touch. He’s quivering, and grasping at Crowley with a helpless desperation, until Crowley is holding him, cradled against his chest. 

They’re rocking together, gently. Like the rain. 

He’s muttering some comforting bullshit, and he can’t even remember half of it. 

“Shh, angel. It’s okay. It’ll all be okay, I promise, it will…” 

“No, no, no, it won’t!” Aziraphale sobs, shaking his head into Crowley’s shirt. His hands are balled in the fabric. “You d-don’t _understand_, it’s not – I don’t…” 

“Shhh. It’s alright. It’s okay.” 

Aziraphale weeps and whimpers, gasping for air and hiccoughing when he chokes on it. He’s falling apart, and Crowley’s never seen him like this – completely broken down, and at a demon’s mercy. He would never allow himself to be so vulnerable. He would never show this. Not to _him_… 

Aziraphale sniffles again and squeaks a little when thunder crackles across the sky outside. He curls tighter into Crowley’s chest. Crowley pulls him closer. 

“It’s just a storm, angel. It’s alright,” he whispers, and the moment seems precious somehow. 

“You weren’t supposed – you weren’t supposed to promise,” Aziraphale mumbles. “You _can’t_, you just… Why did you?” 

Crowley sighs. 

“Wanted to. Meant it. Y’know, the whole deal.” 

The rain is rustling outside. It’s a constant, ominous noise, and by now, he’s almost certain it’s made an ocean. They’re on the Ark again, on one of the lower decks, hidden away in the dark where everything creaks and nothing makes any sense. And the rest of the world is drowning. 

Aziraphale is breathing more evenly now, though he still shivers. Crowley’s brought his hand up to his head, and he’s stroking the angel’s fluffy hair. And Go – Sat – _Someone_, he wants to do it forever. 

If Aziraphale lets him. 

“I couldn’t do it either,” Crowley mutters into Aziraphale’s hair. “Go on, I mean. Without you.” 

Aziraphale shifts in his arms and pulls away a bit, enough to frown at him. 

“Don’t… Don’t _say_ that,” he says quietly. 

His voice is still wet from the tears. Crowley shrugs. 

“Why not?.. I mean it.” 

“Your life shouldn’t depend on mine,” Aziraphale says seriously. His eyes are somber and intense, but to be honest, Crowley doesn’t give a fuck. 

“I know. Don’t care,” he says, even as Aziraphale frowns more. “I just – ”

He breaks off, clenching his teeth together. He can’t. He _can’t_ –

The rain weeps outside, and Aziraphale is looking at him, wide-eyed. 

His heart hurts. 

“I would promise you eternity, angel,” Crowley says softly. “Every moment I’d lived or will ever live. All the dust I’ve crawled in and every star I’d hung, it’s all yours, because I – it’s – ”

“Crowley – ” 

“Nothing really matters to me,” he says stubbornly. “Not the whole blessed world, not without you there.” 

Aziraphale is silent, and Crowley doesn’t want to say anything else, either. Let the rain do the talking. Let the silence hang between them in all of its prickliness. 

The storm is still going, somehow. The wind still howls, the window’s still clattering in the bursts of it, and everything is pitch-black there, behind the glass. The streetlamps were always shit this part of town, and whatever light is trickling into the room now is weak and feeble. Everything is dark. 

Well, that’s to be expected. It’s November. 

“Then I – I rather think I would like to promise, too,” says Aziraphale. He’s speaking slowly, and his voice sounds scared – but there’s a certainty in his face that Crowley’s never seen before. “I, um. I promise you an eternity, my dear. Until this world is dead and gone.” 

It feels like a string had been cut, and Crowley’s plunging from a precipice. He’s Falling all over again – except this time, there isn’t an end in sight. Or, maybe, he’s not falling at all. Maybe this is flight, and maybe his heart is singing, aflame like the brightest stars, bursting with everything that he’d always left unsaid. It’s something he never thought he would have, and it _hurts_, and it’s so, so beautiful. 

It’s tragic, too, of course. It’s still scared, and hidden, and unnamed. He doesn’t dare name it. 

“Stay the night,” he whispers, and feels mad with it. “Please.” 

The corners of Aziraphale’s mouth twitch up – and he’s anxious, of course he is, but he’s nodding. 

“I would quite like that,” he says, and Crowley feels lighter than he ever has. 

He pulls Aziraphale onto the bed, as carefully as he can manage it. They fall on top of the covers, not even bothering with the blankets – except Aziraphale fusses for a moment, spreading Crowley’s coat over them both. 

It’s soft, and it’s sweet, and it hurts. 

It takes them a few moments to really settle. But once they’re there, they fit together like puzzle pieces, curling around each other – just like they did in the desert, and in the darkness of the Ark, and then later again, during their first real winter on Earth. And, well, they haven’t done this in so long, but it’s still easy, still instinctive. It’s _right_. 

Aziraphale is clinging to him, and Crowley holds him. He can’t resist brushing a feather-light kiss against the top of the angel’s head. 

Aziraphale lets out a contented hum. 

“This… This is nice,” he decides, and for once, Crowley doesn’t fight him on it. It is what it is. 

“You should try to sleep, angel,” he says instead. “It’s been a hard day.” 

“Yes. I suppose – well, I haven’t actually slept in…” Aziraphale pauses, thinking. “Oh, goodness, it must be centuries now.” 

“Fbfftt. ‘Xactly,” Crowley says. “You need the rest.” 

“Hm.” 

He shifts closer, and Crowley gives him a little squeeze. The storm is calming now – at least, the thunder part is. The rain still rustles and rattles outside, and the whole world might as well have shrunk to this one shitty room. Everything else is dead and drowned. May it rest in peace. 

Aziraphale is here, and that’s all the world Crowley will ever want. 

“An eternity, angel,” he whispers. “I promise.” 

“Promise,” Aziraphale echoes. 

The rain rustles against the glass, and slowly, quietly, they’re falling asleep. 

***

The second time they say it, the sky is grey, and it’s raining again. Armageddon has come and gone, and they’re sitting in the bookshop together, slowly getting drunk. Outside, London is still, miraculously, full of life, and isn’t that exciting?..

Manchester, yes. It is. It’s so absolutely wild, unpredictable – the world is still alive, jubilant, and nobody knows what’s going to happen next. Not Heaven, not Hell, not any professional descendant. 

This is _life_, in its purest form, and Crowley can barely believe it’s still here. 

“You breathed fire at Gabriel,” Aziraphale says, his voice tremulous with giddy wonder. “The _archangel _Gabriel.” 

“It’s the archangel _fucking_ Gabriel,” Crowley corrects him. “Much scarier, you know.” 

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale giggles. “Of course.” 

He looks soft and golden in the glow of the lamps, and his wine glows red in its glass. And nothing’s changed here, really – it’s the same old rug underneath his feet, and the same bookshelves tower awkwardly above everything, and the same table stands to the side, piled with books and documents and who knows what else. 

It’s all safe, all intact, not a smudge of soot anywhere – and most importantly, Aziraphale is here, exactly where he belongs, alive and smiling. 

He’s beautiful, and Crowley can’t tear his eyes away. 

“So, what now?” he asks softly. “I mean – after this, I’d say they’ll leave us alone for a while. So – what do you think we should be doing?” 

Aziraphale blinks, squinting at his wineglass as he thinks about the question. 

“I don’t know,” he says slowly, and then brightens. “But I… I rather think that this is supposed to be the exciting bit. Not knowing the Plan.” 

“That’s fair.”

They’re silent for a few moments. Crowley shuts his eyes and leans his head back in the armchair, listening to the sounds of London outside – the bookshop might as well be its own little reality, though. It’s peaceful here, and he can’t help but feel warm. 

It’s a wonderful feeling, really. 

He opens his eyes again and catches Aziraphale’s glance. This, he thinks – this is home. 

His angel. 

Who’s looking oddly sad, actually, especially for the end of the world that didn’t happen. He’s staring into his own lap, and being really quiet, and that doesn’t seem right. 

“Hey,” Crowley prods Aziraphale’s foot with his toe. “Angel. What’s wrong?” 

Aziraphale looks up. His face is full of desperate regret, and Crowley scrambles to sit up, sobered by that expression alone. 

“Hey,” he says, and doesn’t know what to do. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t go with you,” Aziraphale says abruptly. “To – to the stars.” 

Crowley snorts. 

“Don’t. World’s still here, innit?” 

“But it almost wasn’t,” Aziraphale says. “The End almost happened, and I left you alone.” 

London is loud in the street outside, but that doesn’t matter. The silence in this room is heavier than all the laundry baskets in Hell. 

“You weren’t ready,” Crowley says softly. “I knew that. And I’m – I’m sorry for pushing you, when you weren’t ready.” 

Aziraphale lets out a weak chuckle.

“There wasn’t much time left for me to catch up, was there?” he says. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Crowley waves his hand dismissively. He’d forgotten he was holding a wineglass in it, and the next few seconds are spent scrambling frantically to catch it. Wine splashes on the carpet, adding to a lustrous history of similar stains. “Ack. Fuck. Shit.” 

They’ve tripped over the chair legs twice and crashed into each other by the end of it. The glass is rescued – though not the wine – and they’re red and out of breath, but at least they’re laughing. 

“Are you alright, dear?” Aziraphale asks. 

Barely glancing down, he miracles the carpet stain away, and Crowley breathes a sigh of relief. 

It’s odd, probably, but moments like these are the reason he wanted the world to stay right where it was. Wine stains on an ancient Persian rug, the smell of dusty old books, and the angel brushing the wet splotches from his shirt with a gentle miracle. 

They’re so close, and Aziraphale’s gaze is so soft, and just a little embarrassed for no reason. 

“You came back to me,” Crowley hears himself saying. His voice is weak and trembles a bit. “At the End of it all, when the Horsemen rode and the armies of Heaven were marching out, you came back to _me_.” 

“And you waited,” Aziraphale counters. “For me, on Earth.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?” 

Crowley sighs. 

“Promised, didn’t I,” he mutters, and he can’t meet the angel’s eyes. “Remember?” 

Remember that dark and stormy night, back before it was a cliché?.. There was a flimsy windowpane clattering in the wind, and cracks of thunder raging through the sky, lightning splitting it in two. Remember – a shitty room, a small bed, and a scratchy overcoat that was just a little too long. 

Aziraphale’s hand is still resting on Crowley’s side, and oh, it burns. 

“An eternity,” Aziraphale breathes. 

“Yes,” Crowley says, and he’s trying very hard not to end the word with a hiss. 

It’s so quiet in the bookshop. It’s warm, and the shelves seem to crowd around them, listening to every word. They’re probably looking for more stories to put between the pages. 

I’ll promise it again, he thinks. It’ll be just like then, I’ll promise it again – the dust, the stars, the eternity that you wanted so much and feared. They’re yours, they’re all yours, and so am I. 

“I love you,” he whispers instead. 

The words burn his mouth, like a terrible, forbidden thing he was never meant to have. Belatedly, Crowley remembers that he’d left his shades off, and they’re perched on top of the flower vase in the other room – so there’s nothing separating them anymore. 

Not that there ever was. Not really. 

Aziraphale is looking back at him. His eyes are bright, glistening with tears, but he’s smiling anyway. 

“I love you too,” he says, and his voice is shaky. “I love you so much, I can’t… I can’t imagine existing without you.” 

Something is coiled around Crowley’s heart, squeezing it until he can hardly breathe. In fact, the whole situation doesn’t seem real, so he inhales, squeezes his eyes shut, and remains like that for a few short seconds, counting them in his head. 

When he opens them, Aziraphale is holding his face and smiling. Crowley’s hands are still resting on his hips, and he’s not showing any desire to shake them off. 

What the fuck. 

“You’re still here,” Crowley says dumbly. 

“Of course I am,” Aziraphale confirms. 

It’s so soft, and beautiful, and it makes no sense at all. 

Crowley frowns. 

“Why?” 

Aziraphale shrugs. 

“I promised.” 

He looks so happy when he says it that Crowley can’t help but smile back at him. He feels like there’s a fire blooming in his chest, but not the Hellish kind. 

It’s warm. 

Aziraphale is leaning forward now, just a bit, and Crowley’s frozen on the spot, but he’s tilting his head down to meet him anyway. Their movements are tentative – and he’s trying so hard to be gentle, to pour all the tenderness he has into this moment. But somehow, he knows that when the kiss happens it will be electric and full of love, and every touch will be full of clinging desperation – as if they’ve done it before, but not for millennia, and they missed each other so much. 

So, he catches Aziraphale’s lips with his own, and kisses him slowly. It feels like coming home. 

When Crowley wakes up the next day, the sun is already up. The light is breaking through the crack in the blinds, cheery and bright, and he smiles, despite himself. It’s a new day – the second in the line of many that should not have existed. A grand old fuck-you to both Heaven and Hell, and to the Almighty in particular. Crowley loves it. 

He rolls over to his other side and faces Aziraphale, who is still deeply asleep. The sunlight dances through the angel’s curls and down onto the rumpled sheets, and there’s something infinitely beautiful about it all. 

Gently, Crowley reaches over and brushes his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. 

“Hnnggh,” Aziraphale says, very intelligibly, stirring at the touch. 

“Morning, angel.” 

“Mmhh.” 

Aziraphale smiles sleepily, and Crowley smiles back – openly, freely – he doesn’t even consider hiding that smile, and it’s lowkey blowing his mind. 

“Hey… Do you think we’re in the Beginning again?” he asks. 

Aziraphale blinks. For a moment, his face his blank and he’s visibly still waking up. 

“What do you mean?” he asks slowly. 

“I mean – we already had Armageddon,” Crowley says. “So, do you think this is the new Year Zero?” 

“Well…” 

Aziraphale frowns and wrinkles his nose, thinking about it. 

“I suppose it is,” he says eventually. “It’s not_ the _Beginning though. Just _a _Beginning. A new one.” 

“And a new eternity to boot,” Crowley nods. 

“Oh. Of course – it would be, wouldn’t it?” 

“Oh, definitely.” 

Crowley grins, rolling over onto his back to stretch. It’s a wonderful thought, really – a whole new eternity, until whenever the Big One would be, and they can spend all this time however they want. No armies, no lies. Just them. 

For eternity. 

“In that case,” Aziraphale says carefully, “I think I would like to promise again. I don’t believe I did it quite right the last time.” 

Crowley snorts. 

“You did alright last time, angel,” he says. 

“No, I… You deserve to hear a proper promise, Crowley,” Aziraphale insists. “I – I want you to have it.” 

His eyes are clear and earnest in the sunlight, and Crowley folds like a napkin. 

“Alright,” he agrees. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Aziraphale smiles. 

“Okay. So, I… I promise you eternity, Crowley,” he says. “Every day, until this world is dead and gone, and after that, as well – because I love you, and I can’t imagine living without you.” 

It’s so quiet in this room. Crowley’s heart feels full enough to burst, and he can’t tear his eyes away from Aziraphale’s, the reality of the situation suddenly overwhelming. 

“I – I promise you, too,” he finally manages to say. “An eternity. A nicer one, this time. Because I love you, too, so much – I love you more than anything in this universe.” 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale whispers back. “I love you. I love you…” 

He shuffles closer across the bed. He looks soft and sleep-rumpled, and Crowley's already instinctively pulling him in, clinging on and wanting to never be separated again. 

They're both smiling into the kiss when it happens, and it consumes their entire world. Meanwhile, a small bird is chirping stubbornly outside of the window, ignorant of their love; and the city is waking up. A car honk sounds in the distance, there’s footsteps and voices moving through the streets, and tires rustle past. The wind ruffles the branches of the old elm behind the bookshop. 

Slowly, a cheerful morning is born – not a care in the world. It’s a Beginning, sure enough, so let the world be elated, let it bustle and laugh and argue and _live_, because it’s an open road from here. 

Let’s make it a softer one this time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are my bread and water, if you comment I will love you forever =) 
> 
> tumblr - @randomcreativitybursts


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